The Manservant
by Shanti Rosa
Summary: When a young Merlin suffers at the hands of some villagers he is saved by a scarred man named Edwin Muirden who convinces him that Merlin's magic is intended for one great task - helping Edwin to murder the King of Camelot. ArthurxMerlin, EdwinxMerlin.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin, fourteen years old and afraid, was trying to remember what his mother had said to him.

James Osbert had Merlin's arms pinned behind his back. It hurt like hell. Osbert kept scraping his fingers back and forth on Merlin's wrists in some kind of demented Chinese burn. In front of the both of them Abelard was cracking his knuckles and shifting from foot to foot. Abelard said jokingly, "Look at the little bastard tryin' not to cry, Os. Think he'll scream if I break his teeth?"

Osbert laughed. When he laughed he squeaked like a hung turkey and his hands suffered spasms. "Try it," he said excitedly. "Bet you he will."

Merlin clenched his eyes shut. 

He thought about what his mother had said to him. Of course children were going to be cruel, she'd said. Because that was what children were like, and Merlin was too skinny and had big ears and people thought he was dim because he smiled too much (she hadn't said those things, but she hadn't had to really). And then there was the whole problem of him being able to move things just by looking at them. He always denied it. His mother pretended the little slips – like a falling jug landing unbroken on the floor, or an overturned bowl of soup not spilling any liquid – were just flukes and nothing to do with her son. But no one believed that really. They were right not to. 

_Children can be cruel,_ his mother had told him. _But if you're strong and you refuse to let them provoke you then they can't harm you._ Then she'd kissed his forehead and smoothed down his hair, adding carefully: _Not in any way that matters._

When Abelard punched him so hard in the face that he could see stars he realised his mother had added that last little comment to lessen the blow of the lie. Other children could hurt him in ways that mattered. His jaw bloody well mattered. There was a hot metallic taste in his mouth that made him think that he'd probably bitten his own tongue. He tried to swallow the taste down and found himself coughing up blood onto the ground. 

Abelard stared at the floor incredulously. 

"You spat on my boot," he said. When he looked up his eyes were blazing with anger. "I'll get you for that you – you warlock!"

If Merlin had had time to speak he might have pointed out that hurting a boy who you thought just might have magic was a bit stupid. Or he might have told Abelard that he hadn't spat on him on purpose. But there was no time. Abelard charged like a bull, slamming one meaty fist straight into Merlin's stomach. For a second Merlin just felt winded. 

Then the pain kicked in. 

He had no time to concentrate on it. Abelard was punching any bit of him he could reach: his arms, his shoulders, even his wildly kicking legs. Every bit of his body was blazing with some kind of mad fire. Merlin decided right at that moment that his dignity wasn't worth much if he was killed by this so he began to scream as loudly as he possibly could. Abelard swore violently. Merlin felt a hand – probably Osbert's – clamp over his mouth. The grip on his arms adjusted swiftly, but was still as tight as ever. 

"Knew he'd scream," Osbert said with satisfaction. Merlin was sure he'd never hated anyone more in his life.

There was a red haze over his vision. For the first time since the two boys had accosted behind the stables Merlin was more angry than afraid. Why did he have to take this? He had magic, Lord's sake! All it would take was one look and Abelard would flat on his arse and become no threat at all. Osbert would be too afraid to do anything to him either after that. It could be so simple. So easy. 

But his mother. His mother had told him not to fight because – 

"Abe!" squawked Osbert, nearly wrenching Merlin's arms out of his sockets as he took one quick step back. "You almost punched me!"

"Don't care," Abelard grunted. He wrenched back Merlin's head with one hand. Merlin could feel the sunlight beat down on his neck. Abelard's meaty fingers were slick with sweat. "Just want to teach this bastard his damn lesson," he hissed. His free hand curled into a fist as his arm moved in for another hard swing at Merlin's stomach. 

And suddenly Merlin had had enough. 

"What the - _shit_!" shouted Abelard, his arm wrenched back in the air by some unseen force. His face went white with pain. He ground his heels into the ground to stop his whole body shifting back and looked hard at Merlin's face. At his eyes. "Cover his eyes," he forced out, gaze flicking momentarily to 

"W-what?"

"_Cover his eyes!_"

Osbert did as he was told. Merlin didn't need to be able to see to know Abelard's arm had gone limp, the force on it broken. Inwardly Merlin cursed. A shudder of terror ran through him. Although Abelard was a brute, he wasn't a stupid one. And now he knew for sure what Merlin really was. 

He heard the sound of ragged breathing as the boy shifted on his feet again. His own blood was pounding in his ears. Well. The little that wasn't dribbling down from his split lip, at least.

"You're in trouble now," Abelard said quietly. "What do you think good men like us do with sorcerer bastards like you, huh? Bet you were the one who got a pox on my Dad's cows weren't you?" The gravel crunched under his feet as he took another slow step closer. "Going to get you for that. Pull out those damn witch eyes."

If he couldn't figure out how to get out of this situation then things were about to go from bad to a lot worse. Realising his mouth was uncovered, Merlin began to form one last desperate shout for help. 

The sound of a stranger's voice silenced him before he'd even begun.

"_Bowes dusten_."

The boys – Osbert and Abelard – didn't even have the chance to make a sound. Merlin felt fingers slip from his skin like shadows. There were two dull thumps and then… Then there was simply nothing. Merlin was swaying dizzily on his feet, staring up at the bright sun through bruised eyes. He felt hands clamp down onto his arms. He flinched.

"Easy," said a voice; the same voice that had spoken just a moment ago. It was low and smooth and strangely calming. "You're hurt. I'll help you sit down, child."

The hands guided him to sit on the edge of a cart that had been propped up against the wall of the stables. Merlin's body moved almost without his permission. He leaned into the wood gratefully, glad for the support. Every muscle of his body was screaming with pain. He was definitely going to have bruises tomorrow. Lots of them.

"Thank you," he whispered. His voice was thick; his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… I'm grateful."

There was a long silence. 

"I don't think you will be for long," said the voice. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you with me."

As the voice made that strange pronouncement Merlin finally managed to focus his vision. The voice had come from the man who was now standing over him. His features were in shadow, thanks to the glare of the sun at his back. But there was enough light for Merlin to make out his long cloak and the cowl obscuring his face. He certainly didn't look like any sort of man that Merlin had seen in the village before. He didn't look safe. 

Merlin shook his head. Very, very carefully so as to stop his head from spinning. "You've been very kind," he said earnestly, smiling through bruises and bloodied lips. "But I've got to get home. I – "

The man touched a finger to Merlin's chin, silencing him. 

"I don't think you understand," the man said. "If you go home I am afraid you will be killed."

Merlin blinked. He blinked again.

"What?" His fingers scrabbled at the wood of the cart as he tried to get up. "I… I need…" His voice trailed off. He looked around, from the left then to the right. It was too quiet. Where had the boys gone anyway? His brian didn't feel like it was working right. Everything was drifting.

"Don't look up," the man said, voice honeyed with concern. So of course Merlin looked up. That was too much of an invitation to his curiosity. The man, after giving a small sound of concern, even helped him sit properly, cradling the back of his neck to give him a better view. He muttered, "I told you not to…"

Abelard and Osbert were lying facedown on the floor.

What was left of them, anyway. 

Merlin looked away and was promptly and violently sick. 

The man did not complain – even though Merlin had most definitely ruined the sleeve of his robes. He muttered a few words that cleaned away the mess and raised Merlin up onto his feet, holding his arm to give him support. "I am sorry you had to see that," he said. And he did sound sorry. 

"What did you do to them?" Merlin said shakily. It felt like his stomach was writhing pit of snakes. Every time his vision grew dim with dizziness he could see those torn bodies behind the lids of his eyes. He was sure the image was etched on his mind.

"My magic went too far," the man said regretfully. "I was afraid they would kill you. You, one of _my_ kind." His grip tightened, then grew gentle again. "Forgive me," he said. "I was afraid. But if you return home, you will certainly be branded a murderer and a sorcerer besides. I promise, if you stay with me I will take care of you."

Stumbling a little, Merlin looked up at the man's face. His mouth was tilted downwards in sorrow. His eyes were shadowed. The profile was of a clean cut jawline and pale skin. It was a strangely handsome face.

And half of it was horribly disfigured. Merlin felt compelled to lower his eyes. 

"What is your name?" asked the man.

"Merlin."

"Well Merlin, I am Edwin." A smile touched the unscarred side of his mouth, lighting up his face. Though he was guiding Merlin gently he was making sure they kept up a quick pace. An urgent one. "And now we are friends, you and I." 

Merlin had the strangest feeling that he should have been trying to pull free from Edwin's grip. It was as if some part of him didn't trust the scarred and smiling man at all. But the rest of him felt numb and languorous and entirely safe in Edwin's company.

"I guess we have no choice," Merlin said, and didn't flinch when Edwin laughed. 

MMM

Merlin tried to rationalise it later. Osbert and Abelard had not just been cruel children. They'd been big, strong almost-men with large fists and larger tempers. They had tried to beat him to death. Abelard had even threatened to pluck out his eyes. He was sure if Edwin had not come that Abelard would have tried it too. 

But he wasn't sure if they'd deserved to die for it.

Edwin found the two of them an inn to stay at. He never fussed over Merlin enough to irritate him. But he did insist that Merlin had to rest. He gave him salves and foul concoctions that made him delirious and exhausted. Or perhaps he was already both of those and the medicines made no difference at all. 

Within a few days his bruises had already begun to fade, which pleased Edwin to no end.

"You will have to continue resting of course," Edwin told him, watching as Merlin curled up more deeply into the sheets. "You are lucky I passed through your village when I did. If I had not, you would surely be dead." He shook his head with a deep sigh.

Merlin nodded. "Won't move," he said agreeably. He gave Edwin a weak grin. "You can trust me."

Edwin pressed his fingers briefly to Merin's cheek and made no reply. Merlin supposed in Edwin-speak the action translated to _I know._ 

It was difficult to disobey Edwin. Merlin had never been much good at doing as he was told but for some reason his body did as it was told without complaint. He woke up a few hours later, not even sure when exactly he had fallen asleep. Maybe it was because Edwin was a physician. Maybe he trusted him. 

Whatever the reason Merlin certainly felt more refreshed. He washed his face and arms in the bedside basin and went to sit by the window, letting the cool air brush over his face. In the last few days just sitting by the window had allowed him to hear a lot of the gossip from the courtyard surrounding the inn. He knew there were people looking for him. He knew he'd been blamed for the deaths of the boys.

He should have been feeling afraid or sick. He should have been feel something. But the numbness inside him was too vast to let anything else in. He could only think of the situation in the vaguest terms before sleep overtook him again. 

In the days that followed Edwin looked no more tense than before, but he told Merlin they would have to move soon. Not quite yet, though. Merlin was not well enough for hard travel.

"But I need to go home," Merlin protested. "At least to say goodbye."

"Hush," Edwin said, touching him again. "None of that."

And strangely enough, even though Merlin never gave in so easily, he did as he was told.

They could have continued like that indefinitely, if not for the interference of the landlord. He'd grown suspicious at Edwin's secretiveness and chose to barge into his room one evening when Edwin was absent. He found Merlin sitting on the bed, took in the sight of his rumpled clothes and bruised face and began to form a dangerous idea. Merlin had a feeling it was something close to the truth. 

"_You_," the landlord hissed. He strode forward and gripped Merlin hard by the neck. Merlin was too surprised to react; he looked up at the man with blank surprise. "Don't you dare try an' do anything to me, I know what – "

"Stop."

Edwin had arrived in the nick of time. He seemed to be good at that. 

"The boy is my manservant," Edwin said in a hard voice. "Are even physicians under suspicion now, friend?"

The man flinched. "Yer Lordship," he stammered, releasing his grip on the scruff of Merlin's neck. "A man's – a man's got to do his duty…"

"You don't need to do anything," Edwin murmured. "Let the boy go and leave."

Merlin felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. Edwin was doing something with his voice. An echo of numbness ran through his veins. But he knew it wasn't aimed at him this time. The landlord's eyes grew glazed and he nodded dumbly, walking straight out of the room.

Merlins' gaze met Edwin's. Edwin gave him a grim smile.

"It seems I have something to deal with," he said. "Wait here, Merlin. I'll be back soon."

The numbness hit him again. _Wait,_ it told him. _You want to wait. You don't want to question. You don't want to try running away._

_Yes I do,_ Merlin thought savagely, and forced off Edwin's power with all his might.

His mind felt free. 

He scrambled off the bed and grabbed some food off of the plate by his bedside. There was a little bread and cheese which he wrapped up quickly in his kerchief. If he was going to run he'd need food. If he was going to go home he'd…

He swallowed hard. He wasn't going to be able to go home.

He could go to Camelot. Get a job there and avoid using his magic at all. He was sure Edwin wouldn't follow him into the heart of magic hating Albion. Would he? Surely not. Surely Merlin wasn't that important. Or he could go to Mercia. He knew nothing about Mercia, but he had as much of a chance of being safe there as anywhere else. 

He thought of how he'd done anything Edwin had told him to and felt suddenly ill. Or maybe that was just the dizziness. 

He heard the door creak open even before Edwin moved to speak. Merlin whipped around in one quick movement. His eyes flared gold and the bread knife flew off the plate to hang in the air between them. "Don't move," he threatened, clutching tighter at the pack of food held in front of him. "If you don't let me go I'll use it."

Edwin watched him silently. He didn't look surprised.

"You've been using magic on me," Merlin said, and wished he didn't sound so betrayed. He took in a shuddering breath. "Your voice has power, doesn't it? Or I wouldn't have gone with you after you killed… them. I would have run away."

"I was wrong to kill them as I did," Edwin said quietly, nodding. Yes. "And I was wrong to – to _compel_ you as I have. But you must understand, Merlin. I was afraid if I did not keep you calm you would panic and try to run away." He gave the bread knife hovering between them a smile. "Just as you are now," he pointed out.

"Just let me get passed," breathed out Merlin. "I don't want to hurt you – "

"Then you must listen to me," said Edwin. "Because if you go out there the villagers will find you and kill you. I promise you that would hurt me very much." 

"You'll use your trick on me. You'll compel me."

"No!" Edwin raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I will not. You will recognise the signs if I use it. Can't you tell it isn't in use now?"

Merlin thought about this for a moment. His mind didn't feel strange and numb anymore. And there didn't seem to be anything very special about Edwin's voice; before it had always struck as him as very powerful somehow. His hands clenched at his sides. 

"Talk," he ordered. 

Edwin tilted his head in acknowledgement and thanks. 

"I was wrong to kill those boys, as I have told you. But it was my only option. Justice…" He trailed off and shook his head slowly. His eyes were hooded and unreadable. "Justice does no exist anymore," he murmured. "Justice in Albion means the heinous murders of our kind. By fire, by axe, by noose. For wrenching that boy's arm back as you did, Merlin, you condemned yourself to death by any of those means. And I could not allow that to happen again."

"Again?" whispered Merlin. His throat felt very dry, and his eyes burned from keeping the knife so long in the air.

"Before your time the King of Camelot condemned all sorcerers to burn. That time was called the Purge." Edwin's voice was colourless. Thin. "My parents both practiced magic. They were good people. They used their gifts to help others. In fact, they were physicians like myself." He swallowed. There was a pause. "I jumped into the fire to try and save my father from burning. He still died and I…" He gesture at his face. "I gained _this_.

"So you see Merlin, when I saw what those boys were doing to you I was blinded with rage. I have made it my life's work to save our people from such treatment. I am sorry to say I could not simply stand by."

Merlin looked at Edwin's face again. It struck him for the first time that Edwin wasn't all that much older than himself. It was just the way he carried himself that made it seem like he was a mature and grown-up man. He tried to imagine what Edwin was like as a boy, and found he couldn't quite do it. There seemed to be too much pain in him now. 

"But magic is evil," he blurted out. Shuddering faintly, he tried to dispel the image of the boys' bodies. "What you did to the boys… that was magic. My mother always told me to be careful with mine. That it wasn't safe," he added, and flushed with shame. A pang of loneliness hit his heart, too. His mother was probably frantic. 

"Ah, but you haven't seen the beautiful things magic can do," Edwin said fervently. There was no magic in his voice. Just passion, pure and fierce. "I could show you. Your mother was doing what she thought was best of you. But if you stay with me I will teach you to be proud of your magic and to use it wisely. I will teach you how to help others like us. Because you see Merlin, _that_ is what I'm trying to do."

Merlin thought of Edwin as a child, fighting to save his screaming parents from the flames as a cruel king murdered them for simply being what they were. And he thought of the way Osbert and Abelard had punched him until his mouth bled; of all the long years of whispers and side-long looks and his mother's pinched, fearful face when she'd told him to be careful.

He thought of the boys dead on the ground.

"How?" he asked. The bread knife spun in the air, slowly lowering to the ground. "How are you going to stop any of this happening again?"

Edwin smiled. There was no joy in it.

"I am going to find justice," he said simply. "For all of us. "


	2. Chapter 2

The physician's room was windowless and uncomfortably humid. A fire had been lit in the grate. Above it a pot was bubbling, and the fumes were thick in the air. The physician's tools – jars of strange liquids, powders in small boxes, little casks of dried plants – were arranged haphazardly over every surface. It took a moment for Safir to see through haze of wood-smoke and make out the shapes of the physician and his manservant at the table near the hearth. They were deeply involved in their work; so deeply, it seemed, that they did not notice the lord enter.

Clearing his throat significantly, he waited for them to take note of his presence. The physician looked up only a moment later, his dark eyes alert.

"My lord," the physician said. "Welcome."

He rose to his feet in a show of respect towards his employer. After a second of hesitation the boy followed suit, shuffling awkwardly on his feet.

Safir paid the boy no more attention than a single dismissive glance.

"Damnably hot in here," he grumbled, tugging at the neck of his jerkin. It occurred to him that the physician had probably been at work in here all day. The physician was still wearing his long cloak. He could only imagine that it made the heat unbearable. "Apologies for that," Safir added gruffly.

"I have worked in worse conditions, my lord," the physician said, a hint of amusement in his voice. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his face and his hair was lank with it, but he still looked at ease. Safir supposed he was used to keeping his flesh covered – who knew what other hideous scars the cloak hid, after all?

The thought was not enough to disturb the lord. He had been a knight once in his youth, and he'd seen a great many worse things than disfiguration in war. But he understood pride, too, and recognised it in the man before him. It was something he could respect.

"Well. Yes. I have come to say…" Safir cleared his throat. The fire crackled in the background, mingling with the sound of the manservant at work with a mortar and pestle at the table. "I have come to tell you that I am grateful for how you have cared for my son."

"It was no trouble," said the physician, in what was a blatant but polite lie. "I was doing my duty."

"Duty!" Safir gave an audible snort. "I've seen men perform their duty. That wasn't duty." He shook his head, then said, "I have an offer you, Edwin. Stay here. Be the physician to my household. It's the best thanks I can give you."

But Edwin was already shaking his head. "It's a kind offer, my lord, but I am afraid I have other commitments I must meet. When the last of the medicine is prepared I will be leaving."

"I would pay you handsomely." The lord was insistent. "Is there nothing I can offer you?"

"In truth, my lord?" Edwin smiled. "No."

Safir smiled thinly. He hadn't expected anything else really. Edwin had the air of a natural traveller; a restlessness that would not allow him to stay in any place longer than was necessary. But it had been correct to make the offer, and he would have been glad if Edwin had in fact accepted it. Before the physician had arrived he had been sure his son would die; now the fever had abated, and the boy was almost as well as he had once been.

But he could hardly let Edwin leave without some sort of compensation beyond simply money. "If you do insist on leaving, then I'll send some men to accompany you deeper into Camelot," Safir said. It the only token of thanks he would make sure the physician would not refuse. "These are dangerous times."

"I am sure I will cope, my lord."

Safir's jaw tightened as he thought of the situation he now faced on his lands. The fever that had nearly killed his son had swept the outlying villages, and as was typical of trying times, the people were searching for a scapegoat anywhere they could. He looked hard at Edwin's long cloak and scarred face. It was not a face that would easily inspire trust. The people, coarse and uneducated as they were, would see an enemy in him. He had no doubt of that.

"I'll be frank. You'll need the protection, Edwin. The people see sorcery everywhere. They'll accuse any stranger of magic if they get the chance. And as a physician…" He gestured with one hand at the strange bottles scattered across the tables to emphasise his point. Healers were easy prey. In times like these, caution was required. "You don't want to get accused of being a warlock, do you?"

There was a muffled choking sound from the back of the room. The servant sitting at the there had ducked his head, his hand clutching knuckle-white at the edge of the table. Safir turned to look at him, noting the boy's hunched over stance with a vague sense of irritation. Hadn't the physician thought to teach his servant better manners?

"What's wrong with the lad?" asked Safir, bemused.

"He's a very superstitious boy, my lord," Edwin replied smoothly. "The mention of magic startles him. But I will accept your offer of men, and with thanks. For now I really must get back to work…"

"Yes, yes of course," Safir said, his curiosity strangely abating. A sense of numb tiredness crept up on him; the heat of the room, he decided, was clearly playing havoc with his senses. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Frowning, he said, "My thanks, once again."

"Your son's health is all the thanks I need," replied the physician. He smiled and gave the lord one small bow of respect. It was well done. It had all been well done. And now that the lord had completed his task and settled what he could considered to be the debt between them, Safir left swiftly, his mind preoccupied by a longing for coldness. He did not see Edwin shut the door behind him – and bolt it.

Merlin waited until the lord had left before bursting into full out laughter. When he leaned forward and clutched his stomach he managed to bash his head against the table which, after a mumbled 'ow', only seemed to make him laugh harder.

Edwin shook his head. "You're a fool, Merlin," he said with a sigh.

His comment did nothing to quieten the manservant down. Merlin had his head right on the table, one hand thumping the surface – which, predictably, resulted in a jar falling off and crashing to the floor.

"Sorry," he gasped, still grinning. When Edwin began to mutter an incantation to fix up the mess Merlin shook his head at him. "Let me do that. You don't want anyone thinking you're a warlock, do you?"

With a wave of his hand he made the glass fix itself, the liquid settling back into place. The smile was still on his face and his cheeks were flushed. Edwin moved to sit beside him once again, ruffling Merlin's hair in what could have passed as a fatherly gesture if his fingers hadn't rested against skin for just a second longer than was appropriate. There was a guarded smile on Edwin's mouth, as if he were trying to stop his own amusement from getting the better of him.

"Finish your work," he said. "The quicker it's done, the quicker we can leave."

"Whatever you say." Reaching for the mortar-and-pestle, Merlin added, "I wouldn't mind staying here longer. If you want to. I like this lord."

It was close as Merlin ever came to admitting a desire to stay anywhere. That, Edwin decided, was reason enough for them to move on. "We have what we came for," he said.

Merlin nodded. They had money, and they had the support of a noble of Camelot. When it came time to enact Edwin's full plan, the physician would certainly have the reputation necessary to earn him entrance to the castle.

"I won't miss it that much here," Merlin said, a little awkwardly. His eyes crinkled in the corners in that way they always did when he was trying to make something sound light-hearted and wasn't succeeding too well. "I'm sticking with you whether you like it or not. Just so you know."

"I know." The sound of chopping filled the air as Edwin got to work on a new batch of herbs. "I never doubted you." Chop. Chop. "Pass me the valerian root."

"Oh," said Merlin. "Okay."

He passed over the ingredients without another word, and took some small comfort in the feel of Edwin's fingers brushing over his own.

It was nice to feel safe.

MMM

It was raining when they left Lord Safir's household. The guards grumbled about it for most of the journey. Rain and armour, of course, didn't mix well. In his long cloak Edwin resembled a drowned rat, which Merlin couldn't help but point out to him. Edwin simply ignored him entirely after that.

They were both on edge, though neither of them wanted to admit it. Instead they kept close and silent, watching the landscape from the safety of horseback, surrounded by the guards Lord Safir had sent with them. It would soon be time for Edwin's plan to come to fruition. Merlin had been with him almost every step of the way. He'd seen Edwin's meticulous research, his long searches for just the right ingredients, even the right creatures. He'd studied with him for long hours, learning every incantation the both of them would need for the task ahead.

They were going to bring back magic to Camelot. Together.

In the years since Merlin had joined Edwin he'd grown only a little taller, but he'd definitely grown a lot stronger. He'd learnt to stop resenting it when people called him 'boy' too; it was just a word used to insult him, to hammer home his low status: Manservant to a physician. Servant to a servant. He was stronger in more ways than the physical, too. He'd learnt what it was like to be lonely; to have only Edwin to rely, because no one else could be trusted anymore.

Merlin had never been able to sympathise with the pain of strangers as strongly as he probably should have. But as selfish as it was, he knew what hatred of magic had done to him, and done to Edwin. Sometimes when he woke up in the night, throat thick with nightmares, he could almost remember the face of the mother he'd left behind.

Almost.

They managed to find a semi-respectable inn to stay at within Camelot, probably thanks to the presence of Lord Safir's men. They men left soon after that – probably off to sample what the kingdom had to offer - and Merlin was quick to settle in after that. He sorted all of Edwin's equipment out neatly, with all the skill of repeated practice.

Edwin took advantage of their privacy by heading straight for the bath. Later he stood by the window and stared out at the busy, bustling land of Camelot. For once he wasn't wearing his cloak. In just Merlin's company he now felt comfortable revealing a little more of his burns, or 'war wounds' as he occasionally called them: a mottled scar along his arm that stretched up to his shoulders and another, thinner mark across his upper chest, near his neck. He was brooding on something, eyes glazed and distant. Merlin was used to that though. He didn't let it bother him.

"These got here safely," Merlin noted, holding the box etched with runes as if it were some kind of precious jewel. Privately Merlin liked to think of it as the beetle box, though he was sure Edwin wouldn't have appreciated such a simple name for his most prized possession. "Where do you want me to keep them?"

"Put them on the table with the rest." Edwin's gaze slid from the window towards Merlin. "Come over here."

Merlin did not obey immediately. First he place the box back down and swept his hand lightly over the table, his magic arranging the clutter into something a little like order. Then he went to stand by Edwin, peering out of the window along with him. The rain had stopped, and the sky now looked gorgeous, blue.

"What is it?"

"When you laughed at the old lord's home…" Edwin stopped. Shook his head. Then he curved his hands around Merlin's shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. "What did you then was acceptable," he said slowly, enunciating each word with careful, deadly calm. "But here if you laugh inappropriately, if you say the wrong words, if you even _look_ at someone in a way that draws suspicion towards us we will both be killed. Do you understand?"

Merlin's throat felt dry. He swallowed. Nodded.

"_Merlin._" Edwin's grip tightened. "I do not think you understand." His jaw tightened, stretching his scars in a way that would have looked grotesque if Merlin hadn't grown so used to it already. "This task means everything. _Everything._ It can't go wrong."

There was a flare of anger in Merlin's eyes. "I'm not going to get us killed Edwin, all right?" he snapped. "I know how important this is."

Edwin stared at him for a moment. His grip relaxed, though he didn't let go entirely.

"If you're so sure," he said, "then I think I'll have a job for you soon."

"Anything," Merlin said, trying his best to sound powerful and capable. It probably didn't work very well – he could see the flicker of amusement in Edwin's expression. "Just tell me, and I'll do it."

MMM

Later Merlin realised that when he'd said 'anything' he probably should have specified 'anything that doesn't make me want to die of embarrassment.'

"I – I've come with a gift," he stammered. It wasn't hard to act like a foolish servant when he were standing in front of a pair of guards who just happened to be twice his size. "F-for the Lady Morgana." He thrust the flowers forward, feeling a painful mix of terror and pure embarrassment.

At least they were lilies. If Edwin had sent him with red roses he might have had to admit defeat and leave the whole task in Edwin's hands. As it was, he still wasn't quite sure how he was going to get them to take the flowers from him. The men didn't look terribly amused. Perhaps Merlin wasn't going about this the right way. Admittedly he'd never taken flowers to a woman before, not even the kind that was _not_ noble. The girls in his village had always looked at him like he were something disgusting they'd found on the bottom of one of their shoes.

"Who're they from?" asked the first guard, eyeing Merlin with a dark glare.

"Secret admirer," said Merlin. "Really can't tell you that."

The second guard was already shaking his head. The first said, "Boy, I can't – "

"They're flowers," Merlin pointed out. "They can't hurt anyone."

That was a lie of course. Merlin had seen flowers with poisonous petals; flowers with pollen that could heal or induce visions, or kill outright. But in this case the flowers weren't dangerous. Just what happened to be hiding inside them. Even holding the animated beetle near him made Merlin uncomfortable.

The first guard crossed his arms. "Even so – "

Desperate times, Merlin realised, called for desperate measures.

"They're from me," he blurted out. When the guards gave him an incredulous look he blushed but added, with as much dignity as he could, "I know I'm just a commoner and unworthy of her beauty, but I just want to give her. A token of my affection. I want to bring a little um, beauty into her life." He saw the first guard's lip twitch. "They were expensive," he said in a pleading tone, as if that would somehow help.

Merlin desperately hoped that the Lady Morgana didn't have a strong resemblance to a troll or something equally awful. Dour expressions unchanged, the guards exchanged glances, some unspoken message passing between them. When they turned back to look at Merlin he realised with near palpable relief that they'd changed their minds.

"Alright boy, we'll take them."

"You're not the first to do this. Doubt you'll be the last either," the second guard said. He was smiling. _Finally._

"I'm sure," Merlin mumbled, before running off as fast as he could without looking suspicious.

Okay. Not a troll then.

MMM

Edwin waited days.

He'd never waited this long before.

This wasn't the first time Edwin had used his beetles. They'd tested them on a grown man in one of the villages they'd passed through some months ago and found that the insects worked quickly and efficiently. Edwin had removed them soon after, and been lauded as a great and miraculous healer. Merlin had been glad to end it. The man had grown ill and pale so quickly, as if death was already creeping up on him.

Three days passed. Four.

Five.

Edwin was calm. Too calm. It was Merlin who found himself pacing back and forth in the room, wondering if they were leaving it too long, if the Lady Morgana – whoever she was – would die for the sake of their task.

One morning Edwin went out to the castle and returned with a look of satisfaction on his face, as if nothing was wrong at all. Except that there _was_ something wrong. Merlin knew enough to know that if they waited much longer Lady Morgana would be dead and their one key to getting into the castle would be gone. One more life would be wasted.

He tried not to think of the two boys who had died for his sake so long ago.

"What if Uther doesn't summon you to take care of her?" demanded Merlin. "How will you help her then?"

"I've talked to Prince Arthur, Merlin," Edwin said, head bent over a flask of bubbling liquid. "We'll be called."

"We'll see," Merlin said sceptically. "Princes aren't famous for being _clever_, Edwin."

A day later, despite Merlin's worries, they were summoned.


End file.
